


Spousal Privilege

by Llama1412



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Crack Treated Seriously, Diplomacy, Fake/Pretend Relationship, M/M, Post-Canon, Post-The Witcher 3: Wild Hunt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-25
Updated: 2020-11-25
Packaged: 2021-03-10 01:07:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,184
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27705308
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Llama1412/pseuds/Llama1412
Summary: Stuck at a diplomatic conference, Roche is frustrated that none of the elves in the room will even acknowledge he exists. Then Iorveth enters and it's like seeing an old friend. And then somehow they end up pretending to be married.
Relationships: Iorveth/Vernon Roche
Comments: 19
Kudos: 81
Collections: Stories Which Made for a Better Day





	Spousal Privilege

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Vivi_7](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vivi_7/gifts).



> Vivi sent me an ask about how to make a fake relationship canon, and I was inspired. This is totally ridiculous post-Witcher 3 shenanigans.

The worst thing about Nilfgaard winning the war was that now Roche was suddenly in charge of things. Not just that, but he was forced to meet with _other_ people who were in charge, because apparently “diplomacy makes peace”. 

Which was how he’d ended up in a conference room with a handful of elves who all refused to even acknowledge his existence, much less listen to his ideas. Not only was he bubbling with frustration and annoyance at the slight, but gods dammit, he was getting _bored._ Was it so much to ask for just one person to talk to?

He tapped his fingers on the table, frustration starting to turn into desperation. Dammit, he didn’t even want to be here! But since he was stuck with this, he wanted to represent Temeria appropriately. If anyone would actually _talk to him._

The door opened with a creak, and a brash voice that Roche had heard a million other times apologized for being late as Roche jerked his head up to see a familiar red-bandana’d elf.

“Iorveth!” he jumped up, excited to _finally_ have someone who would fucking talk to him. He tripped forward quickly, stumbling slightly as he wrapped Iorveth, the former leader of the Scoia’tael and his one-time enemy, in a hug. “Never been so relieved to see your stupid red bandana.”

Iorveth’s face was surprised, but he slowly wrapped his hands around Roche – feeling for weapons, Roche knew, but hey, so was he, so… 

“You’re the one with the stupid hat,” Iorveth muttered.

“It’s not stupid.”

“Oh, it definitely is.”

“Iorveth,” one of the other elves said and Roche couldn’t help but resent the man for pulling Iorveth’s attention away from him. Was it not enough to ignore him? “You know this dh’oine?”

Iorveth arched a brow, pulling back from Roche to face the man, but keeping an arm tight around his shoulders. “Of course? This is Vernon Roche, the only commander in the North that I failed to ever defeat.”

There were murmurs of interest and a few elves even deigned to look at Roche. He glared right back at them and Iorveth’s lips twitched with a smirk. “Making friends as usual, Vernon,” Iorveth teased, guiding them into seats next to each other at the conference table. “I miss anything interesting?”

“Not a thing,” Roche snorted. “I swear, dealing with you elves is more complicated than a fucking cèilidh.”

Iorveth’s brow knit but before he could say anything, one of the elves gasped loudly.

“Iorveth!” the woman called. “thuirt e cèile?”

“Uh…” Iorveth blinked, “tha?”

The other elf scoffed, “cuin a phòs thu dh’oine?”

Roche snarled in frustration. First they ignore him, then they speak in a language he can’t understand. Assholes. 

“What’re they saying?” he whispered in Iorveth’s ear, making no particular effort to keep his voice down.

Iorveth shuddered when his breath brushed across the elf’s ear and when Iorveth didn’t answer, he contemplated blowing on Iorveth’s ear, just to irritate him as much as he was annoying Roche at the moment.

Ah, what the fuck, he’d never been known for his self-control.

Roche blew a stream of cool air across Iorveth’s ear, and Iorveth flinched, instinctively trying to cover his ear. “What the fuck, Vernon?” he hissed.

“Answer me.”

“I don’t take your orders,” Iorveth huffed.

* * *

Iorveth was hardly aware as Roche made increasingly exaggerated frustrated faces, his mind reeling. Husband. They thought that because Roche had said a word that surely only _sounded_ like cèile, they were married. Him. Married to Roche.

Wasn’t that a thought?

It had been years since he’d seen Vernon Roche, years since a time when it was possible Iorveth had, entirely idly, thought the dh’oine rather attractive. After all this time, he would’ve expected to feel nothing at all for his former enemy, but from the moment Roche had wrapped his arms around Iorveth, he knew he was in trouble.

And these random ambassadorial staffers thought Roche was his husband. That he was Roche’s husband. That they were married.

Iorveth pressed his lips together. Was it bad that he kind of _wanted_ to let them think that?

A puff of air across his ear jerked him out of his thoughts and he jerked his ear down towards his shoulder. “What the fuck, Vernon?”

“Answer me,” Roche pouted. Seriously, there was no other word for the dh’oine’s expression.

“I don’t answer to you.” Iorveth crossed his arms to cover his confusion. What had the question been again?

Roche sighed heavily. “Fucking hell. Look,” the dh’oine planted his hands on the table and glared at the other elves. One of them shrunk in on themselves and Iorveth felt a flash of smug victory. These idiots really thought they could ignore _Vernon Roche!?_

Iorveth had never been able to.

“I came here in good faith on behalf of Temeria. If y’all don’t want to deal, then fine, let’s not waste each other’s time.” Roche shook his head at them and rose to his feet. 

Iorveth felt a flicker of panic and for some reason, he pushed himself upright to follow Roche as the dh’oine stalked towards the door.

“No, no, please wait!” the woman who’d asked Iorveth when he’d married Roche jumped up, “I – I am Srene. My apologies, we did not realize. Of course we will treat with you.”

Roche’s face scrunched up. “Didn’t realize… what?”

“That you were married to the one commander who was able to unite the Scoia’tael.”

“Oh,” Roche said. Then blinked, “wait, what?”

Iorveth coughed lightly. “They think you’re my husband,” he told Roche, unable to hold back a laugh.

To his surprise, amusement also passed across Roche’s face, and he turned back to Srene. “Right. Iorveth. My husband. So… shall we talk business?”

“Of course. I understand that Temeria’s primary exports are wheat and steel, is that correct?”

Roche looked downright delighted. “Yes. Yes it is.”

Clapping Iorveth on the shoulder, he returned to his seat. Iorveth blinked at him. So… they were going along with this misunderstanding, then?

Well, if Roche was fine with it, Iorveth may as well enjoy it. He strode back to the table and shifted his seat a little closer to Roche’s until their shoulders pressed together.

Roche didn’t even pause in his impassioned speech about Temeria blah blah blah.

Iorveth held back a yawn. Roche clearly had this in hand and to be honest, Iorveth wasn’t even sure why they’d sent him here. He didn’t represent any cause but the Scoia’tael, and they were largely disbanded. But apparently, his fame made him a needed guest, or so the orders from the emperor had said. Bastard.

Really very tempted just to take a nap, Iorveth thought about the husbands thing. Roche was pretending to be his husband. These random ambassadorial aides who Iorveth had probably met all of once before thought Roche was his husband.

It was kind of nice. Which was ridiculous, but really, what harm was there in indulging the part of him that was still a little hung up on Vernon Roche? It wasn’t as if it would matter after this conference ended and none of them ever saw each other again.

Iorveth brought a hand up to cover his yawn, then tilted his head against Roche’s shoulder and closed his eyes. Roche’s words stuttered slightly at the contact, but he didn’t push Iorveth off and damn, Iorveth was pretty tired. 

“Wake me when they bring us food,” he murmured, nuzzling into Roche’s shoulder slightly just because he, apparently, _could._

* * *

Roche kept glancing down at Iorveth, his new husband, apparently, who was contentedly asleep against Roche’s shoulder. Seriously, actually asleep. In front of his once-enemy. Roche wasn’t really sure how he felt about that, but he was pretty sure smiling was not the right response. Nonetheless, he was careful to keep his right arm still, so as not to disturb Iorveth’s rest.

He gestured with his left hand as he negotiated tariffs for Temeria and for the first time since he’d been shoehorned into the job, Roche was actually pleased to be Temeria’s de-facto ruler. 

These elves, who wouldn’t give him the time of day before, were now literally _handing_ him everything he needed. Temeria was getting such a good deal out of the crazy idea that he was married to Iorveth! 

He nearly laughed giddily. Him! Married to Iorveth? What a ridiculous idea, but it was getting him _everything._

Honestly, he wouldn’t mind being Iorveth’s husband for the duration of the conference, not if it meant the others treated him like this. 

Iorveth was warm against his side and Roche absently hoped that the elf had pleasant dreams. 

Finally, after hours of negotiation, they broke apart for lunch. The elves got up and nodded at him politely as they filed out of the room, but Roche didn’t move just yet. He waited for the door to clang shut, then poked Iorveth’s forehead. “Hey hubby, time for food.”

Iorveth’s scrunched nose was absurdly adorable and Roche poked him again. “C’mon sleepy head, you wanted food, didn’t you?”

“Free food?” Iorveth mumbled, eyes still closed.

Roche laughed. “Yeah, the food is free. Is that why you came here? For the free food?”

Iorveth shrugged, pulling away from him with a yawn and a stretch. “I represent a mostly defunct group. Why _else_ would I bother to come here?”

“Fair enough,” he chuckled, finding his eyes drawn to the sliver of skin that had been revealed when Iorveth stretched. “Let’s go get food then, husband.”

Iorveth cocked an eyebrow, amusement passing across his face. He rose to his feet and led the way to the dining hall. “So, I assume you’re running Temeria now?”

Roche grunted. “If you can call shuffling the paperwork for the imperial bureaucracy running.”

“Sucks, huh?”

“How do you stand it?” Roche asked, genuinely curious.

Iorveth turned to him with a disbelieving look. “Vernon, I am attending a diplomatic conference for the free food. What part of that says that I can stand it?”

Roche snorted. “Okay, yeah.” He poked Iorveth’s side, which had worryingly little padding. “You could use some food, looks like. C’mon, let’s take advantage of the buffet.”

Iorveth’s eyes lit up and they each quickened their pace until they reached the dining hall. Then Roche darted forward and opened the door for his ‘husband’ with a wink. The corner of Iorveth’s mouth twitched, and even though a hush spread over the room at the sight of their legendary Scoia’tael commander, Iorveth ignored everyone else, sticking by Roche’s side.

There was no reason that should make him feel smug, but it definitely did. 

Who would have thought they’d ever find themselves here, former-enemies cum husbands? Roche snorted and slid a hand over to rest at the small of Iorveth’s back.

Iorveth did nothing more than raise his eyebrow, smile curling on his face.

Maybe this whole conference would be more worth it than Roche had ever thought when he agreed to attend. 

* * *

By the end of the conference, Iorveth was so used to treating Roche as his husband that he almost forgot that this was all a ruse. But Roche made it so _easy_ to forget, what with the way he took to the role enthusiastically. He touched Iorveth freely and his gentle touches were probably the most contact Iorveth had had with a person in a long time. It was nice.

He didn’t really want it to end. But was it worth making a move? Just because Roche was enjoying the ruse for the conference didn’t mean he _actually_ wanted Iorveth. 

But maybe he _could._ And what the hell, if this went awry, they’d probably never see each other again anyway. 

“Vernon,” he called, and Roche turned to him immediately.

“Yes, cèile?” After five days of saying it, Roche’s pronunciation was actually rather acceptable, but that didn’t stop Iorveth’s exaggerated grimace. 

“Your accent is terrible.”

Roche grinned, “you love it.”

“Yeah,” Iorveth huffed a laugh, stepping closer to Roche. He licked his lips and looked up to meet Roche’s gaze. “I’m going to do something very stupid,” he announced.

Roche arched a brow in surprise. “Yeah? Gonna let me in on the plan?”

“Kinda hafta,” Iorveth mumbled, taking a deep breath. Then he pressed forward and kissed Roche. Like, actually genuinely kissed his former enemy. On the lips.

Roche sucked in a quick breath, but then a hand was wrapping around the back of Iorveth’s neck and Roche’s lips were moving against his. 

Maybe this wasn’t so stupid after all. As he sucked on Roche’s lower lip, Iorveth hoped that all their misunderstandings would go so well. And also, a little bit, how soon Roche would consider too soon to propose. After all, those random ambassadorial aids would be expecting it.

Maybe he’d even invite them, if the day ever happened. But for now, Iorveth slid a hand up into Roche’s hair and backed him up against the wall. Roche huffed a laugh against his lips and happily let himself be led until they were pressed close to each other, kissing again and again.

**Author's Note:**

> Elder speech (actually Scots Gaelic):  
> “Did he say husband?”  
> “Uh… yes?”  
> “When did you marry a dh’oine?”
> 
> A cèilidh, by the way, is a social dance, often one with complicated footwork that you do at fast speeds.


End file.
